Owned
by Kandakicksass
Summary: Post-FN2011. Some things don't stay dead, and Peter is about to find out that the one monster on earth capable of capturing him, of truly dominating him, is one of them. Jerry/Peter slash.


**SOMEONE told me to write another Fright Night fic, so here it is, dedicated to EqualsEquivalent, the BRAT who changed her penname. You'd better like it.**

When Peter woke up he didn't remember much except coming home from filming an episode of the show—a much more realistic show now, though still rather theatrical—before attempting to drown himself in midori. Charley, who had rapidly become something of a nephew to him, didn't like him drinking and he didn't do it often anymore, but when he did he often got hammered. He was about halfway through his first glass when something—he couldn't say what, but it felt like one of the rifles he left laying about because he was a bloody _idiot_ and of course he was knocked out cold.

Now, he wasn't sure how to react because as he woke, he found himself in a white room alone except for a small woman, perhaps twenty at most, with dark rings under her eyes and a pretty little face. She was watching him, probably had been for a while, and when she looked away it was only for a second. She shifted—must have been uncomfortable, not that there was a way to get comfortable in the room anyway, small and empty as it was—before her green eyes turned back to him.

"You're awake," she noted, her voice not high and giggling like Peter had come to expect. "And correct me if I'm wrong, but you're Peter Vincent, aren't you?"

He nodded, a little surprised. In retrospect, he shouldn't have been; he had a famous show and he was rather good looking; of course he was well known. But something about this girl made him think that she wouldn't be interested in something as stupid as a vampire hunting debacle. "I am," he drawled, trying to keep some small piece of him together. The pride and flirting could stay if nothing else. "You a fan, darling?"

She managed to roll her eyes and make the action seem fairly normal despite the circumstances. "No. Charley told me about you, once." She paused and he waited for her to continue. "He's been looking for you, you know. A wonder you've managed to last this long." Her eyes searched his.

"Charley's looking for me? How do you know him, anyway?" he asked, confused, and she shook her head.

"Not Charley. Dandridge. _He's _been looking for you," she answered almost conversationally and Peter froze at the sound of his name, horrible memories making him want to puke. "I'm Alex, by the way. Charley and I go to school together, to answer your question, and sort of became friends. Then I got trapped here. Nice place, isn't it? Great scenery." She gestured around them and Peter stifled a giggle, but it felt more like hysteria than true humor.

"That's impossible," he snorted. "Jerry Dandridge is dead."

Her eyes were knowing, and… was that pity? "Not anymore. He likes to tell stories, you know, and the one where you all killed him? His favorite to tell. He's really excited about seeing you again, to see the shock on your face when you see him alive. He said you underestimated the power of his blood, and that eventually, even from ashes, his kind can regenerate if they'd had enough blood beforehand." She shrugged like this was of no interest to her.

"Why is Dandridge looking for me?" he questioned when he'd ingested that piece of information, his voice a bit higher than usual and she raised an eyebrow at him like she _knew _that he was panicking. Which he was. "I mean, I've settled my old scores with Jerry Dandridge! Why would he want to look for me? I'm sure you're mistaken. He wants me for information. Maybe he wants my artifacts, or something." He was probably being irrational, but something about the way Alex had said 'he's been looking for you' made it sound like Dandridge wanted him as a pet or something, which of course couldn't be true. He was being stupid.

"You're an idiot, aren't you?" she asked him off-handedly and he almost agreed with her out loud. As it was, he simply glared at her and crossed his arms. "Look, I don't know all the details, just that the vampire—Jerry? I've only ever heard him called by his last name—wants you. Badly."

"What do you mean by that?" he snapped and she rolled her eyes at his obvious denial.

"I hardly even know," she scoffed in return, going for strong and simply coming out stubborn. She didn't look too well, the poor dear; she looked almost sick, skin pasty. "Just that whenever he comes in to feed, he's always muttering to himself about how he needs to find you, how nothing matters but you. Everyone he has trapped here is somehow related to you or Charley. He's really putting forth some effort."

"If he's looking for me specifically, then why am I shoved in here with you? Wouldn't he do something with me other than lock me up if he had some reason for wanting me so badly?" The words tasted sour on his tongue and brought up bad memories, memories of being a young, naïve child. He closed his eyes and tried to forget that horrible night when he had been played with and every night since when he had those nightmares of his body being toyed with that way again.

She shook her head, lanky brown curls bouncing a bit. They lacked luster and he wondered idly how long she'd been in this white room that couldn't possibly be the old one. "He didn't bring you here; another one found you. Dandridge probably doesn't even know you're here yet."

"Great," he squeaked. "I'm a surprise for a bloody _vampire_. This is just great. Isn't it great? Wanna put me in a box and wrap me with wrapping paper while you're at it?" He was nearly hyperventilating at that point and Alex reached out and touched his leg in what he supposed was a comforting gesture.

"Calm down," she intoned in her soft voice. "Just calm down. Keep in mind, I'm just as trapped as you are." That actually calmed him and for the next hour and a half or so, they remained perpetually quiet, saying nothing until Alex spoke again. "What does he make you think of, Dandridge?"

He answered without thinking, the way he always did. "Booze."

She raised an eyebrow, pale lips curving upward into a small smile. "Jerry Dandridge makes you think of booze," she said with a slow sigh, her voice strangely faint.

"Yes," he answered with a bit of a smile of his own. "Booze, and the more I think about him, the more booze I want." She laughed and he allowed himself a chuckle in return as they fell silent again. That silence lasted for hours, neither speaking a word, waiting endless.

Finally, their waiting ended when the door slammed open, a very tall, demanding vampire standing in the door. His eyes locked on Alex, who stared up at him calmly.

"Hello, Dandridge," she greeted him. "I'm sure your business here has little to do with me." He smirked at her before his dark eyes slid to Peter, who shivered in what was _almost_, but not quite, fear. "Don't." They both look back to see her almost topple over and Peter lurched forward, feeling horrible for not realizing the condition she was in before. As she fell, her hair fell away and the deep, bloody marks on her neck were exposed. She had a hand on Jerry's boot, as if she could hold him down like that. Weakly, she looked up at him. "Don't hurt him." She slumped, giving to the ground, and though she still breathed, the sound was faint.

"Did you kill her?" Peter accused before saying anything else and Jerry _laughed_, fucking _laughed _at him. "You bloody _bastard_—you shouldn't have killed her!"

"Listen, pretty," Jerry chuckled, kneeling down next to him as he lightly touched Alex's shoulder, glaring at the vampire with fire. "Her heart beats. For now." He paused. "It didn't matter much, anyway."

Peter, being the soft-hearted prat he was, felt tears sting his eyes. "How could you say that?" he hissed. "She was a person, of course it matters, you _monster_!"

Jerry raised his eyebrows. "Please. She was dying already, pet; she had cancer. I was doing her a favor. Didn't you wonder why she wasn't afraid of me?"

"Do you think that makes it okay?" he said weakly, but his argument made sense and Peter suddenly felt both vulnerable and stupid. He gave up, looking down, bending his head in a show of submissiveness. He wasn't going to outright admit defeat, but he hoped that by showing Jerry his neck, he would at the very least be spared. He was a lot of things, and it just so happened that underneath the armor he took to wearing due to Charley's urging so often, he was a coward, and he didn't want to die.

"Are you finished yelling at me?" Jerry asked him once his breathing had calmed slightly and he nodded, still refusing to look up. "Good." He felt a pair of lips on his neck and almost, _almost _jumped in surprise, a feeling of dread settling in his stomach. "You're wondering why you're here, I suppose." Jerry sounded far too happy about him being there for it to really matter and Peter gave Alex credit; it seemed she was right about the vampire wanting him for something.

"I kind of already figured it out," he mumbled, his cheeks burning as he thought about Alex and his own fate. "You _want _me." He sounded almost petulant, but in truth, he was terrified, and even more so when he peeked out of the corner of his eye to see Jerry grinned widely at him.

"You're smarter than you look, Peter-boy," he said with another kiss toward the side of his neck, more lingering and more threatening. His lips remained, and hovered, just above the pulse of his neck. "Will you fight me?"

Peter looked down at Alex and fancied himself able to put two and two together. He shook his head, lips tightly pressed together. _Again. I always knew he'd capture me again. _A hysterical laugh caught in his throat and he choked it down again. He had thought, after he had helped Charley, that it would be over. That he could sleep without the nightmares, and live without the fear.

He had been wrong.

The nightmares had remained and now, because of his dear Ginger—pain in the ass, but he had cared about her—he was afraid to take another lover lest she—or he—be killed as well. He lived every day in constant terror of Jerry. Not just any vampire, no—just Jerry, who had killed his family and possessed him in all sorts of the word. He'd barely been twelve when he'd taken cock the first time and he could remember without effort what it felt like, that long, thick presence inside of him.

He had been twelve, his body small, his features almost on the feminine side though not quite, and Jerry had violated his innocence and breached his virgin body, and it had hurt. He had felt it for what felt like years afterwards, sometimes just a twinge of what it felt like to be full like that. He could have sworn, when it was happening, that he could feel the shape of Jerry's cock inside his body because the vampire's girth was simply too much for his child's body, for his tight passage. Jerry had broken him that night it so many ways, and he felt it still.

Jerry had taken him, and Jerry had left him outside a child's care services building with a kiss and a palm to his own crotch, though in his state of shock his body did not react to the touch.

Now, Jerry was pulling him into strong arms and he didn't pull away, just let himself be carried away from Alex and that little room. He watched as they walked down a long hallway, no longer hidden behind a closet like Charley had told him about the last time they had met up with the sadistic man. They stepped out of the hallway of rooms and down another hall, turning right just before a set of stairs and into a bedroom larger than Peter's own, which was saying something.

He was set on a bed and joined shortly by the vampire, who at some point between setting him down and getting in had shed himself of the clothes he was wearing—a typically Jerry black shirt and jeans, which were now folded somewhat neatly over the chair in front of the computer desk in the corner of the room.

_He's keeping up with modern technology, I see, _Peter thought but his lips were claimed and he dropped the train of thought, willingly submitting. He would rather give his body again, something he was good at, than be the cause for Alex's death… or anyone else's. He hoped, eventually, that Jerry would let him go. He almost prayed for it but a thought hit him and he stopped, freezing before shoving Jerry away, who growled.

"Why?" he demanded. "You minx, you won't escape, if that's what you want. You agreed. You gave yourself to me."

"Where is Charley?" he managed to force out desperately, Jerry's hands unlacing his pants—leather, as always, for he hadn't a chance to change when he'd returned home. Charley had to mean more than anything to him; he was like family. The only family he had, and he had to make sure he was okay. "Please, is Charley okay? You haven't hurt, or captured him?"

"What, you're changing the terms now? I can't fuck you unless your precious Charley is okay?" Jerry snorted, but examined him with deep, unreadable black eyes. "I haven't touched the brat. And how's this; I'll even let all of his friends, and yours, go. All I want is you, Peter."

He nodded, but a question occurred to him and he risked his life to ask. "Why? Why do you want me?" Jerry laughed, loudly, and slid his pants off of his legs, running his hand over his side before pulling on Peter's leg and hooking it over his hip, rolling so Peter was on top of him.

"Because," he answered, his eyes full of dark promise, his smile feral. "I am sick of hunting. For now, I just want to enjoy the spoils of war, and you call to me." He leaned up, licking a line up Peter's throat. He earned a shudder and smirk. "All these years, your blood, your body… exquisite. I'm not just going to let you go now, pet."

With that, he took Peter's hips and forced him down and he screamed—oh, he screamed. He had never known a pain quite like being breached without preparation and this was only the second time it had ever happened… but it was hard to forget. Jerry raised an eyebrow at his cry and rocked him for the first time in twenty-four years, making him scream again, though far less dramatically.

"Does that hurt?" he asked curiously and Peter nodded quickly, tears burning his eyes again. A slow smirk spread over his lips and Peter heard a laugh, deep and almost excited. "Good. You have no idea how you make me feel, pet. I think you'll be staying with me for a while."

Peter opened his mouth in horror, about to protest—no one had said _anything _about staying with him—but Jerry gave a deep thrust and his cock, on top of the pain, struck his prostate with such brutal force that pleasure struck him like lightning, making him cry out once more, but with an entirely different reason. He felt his own cock harden and almost gave in to the tears as Jerry's surprisingly warm hand wrapped around his half-erection, teasing it to full hardness.

"How long?" he asked when Jerry had picked up a pace and the tearing pain had dulled. Concentrating while being fucked—he was good at that, thought he'd never bottomed to anyone quite like Jerry Dandridge. In fact, he hadn't bottomed to _anyone _in quite some time, and that might have explained why it took almost a full five minutes for his body to once again become used to the intrusion. "Do you want me to stay with you?" he added, his voice tight and choked, making his captor laugh.

"I don't know," he responded gaily. "A few days, a few months. A few years." His eyes watched Peter's expression tighten just the slightest bit in fear before laughing once more and leaning up again to capture one of his nipples between barely-human teeth. He winced, a tear slipping down his cheek as the pain shot through his body, but Jerry was aiming for his prostate every thrust and he couldn't stop the small gasps it each one pulled from his lips.

Jerry was so handsome, he thought brokenly as he was fucked with abandon, his body bruised and beautiful, reflected in black pools that watched him hungrily. A strong jaw, gorgeous features, a strong, firm body… vampires like him had been born in the golden ages when seduction could get you anywhere, and four hundred years of experience had made him good at it.

_Good at seducing the son of two people you killed_, he thought and almost reeled with despair, anger at himself. This man, this _beast_, was his parent's murderer… but he couldn't refuse, and gave in, reveling in the pleasure.

He was just nearing his climax, mewling, his body betraying him completely, when Jerry jerked him downward, mouth open wide, and he jerked just as teeth dug into his neck with the force of a supernatural being trained to kill. He cried openly, his tired body giving, while Jerry drank and finished him off, burying his come-splattered hand in Peter's hair while he drank. Weaker and weaker, Peter got to near unconsciousness before he was released, his eyes closed, his mouth slack. His body felt boneless and he was laid on his back by surprisingly gentle, warm hands.

He heard some sort of squishing, and then felt lips against his. Too tired to resist, he opened his mouth, welcoming Jerry inside—_I'm going to die now—_and almost began to sob when he tasted blood on the vampire's tongue, a good deal of it, which was forced down his throat. It was dark tasting, just like it's owner, and Jerry swallowed it just before he fell into darkness.

*(Later)*

"Wakey, wakey, pet."

Brown eyes, so much closer to black now, fluttered open. Orienting himself was difficult, but he did, realizing that he was being fucked again yet he felt none of the pain, or even the guilt from before. He mewled much like a kitten, leaning down to kiss his sire, who chuckled and kissed him back. Jerry was on his back, looking up at him triumphantly and in his eyes Peter could see slight differences in his own appearance. His eyes were darker, his features were slightly younger, not so haggard, his skin just a bit paler.

He was a monster now, too.

"I told you," Jerry whispered later after freeing his captives on demand from his fledgling. Peter, when he had recovered a bit of himself, was upset for most of the night. Alex, sometime during their lovemaking—Peter had called it fucking and wound up slapped across the face—had passed. Seeing her corpse, curled in a ball in the floor of that little room had sent him into a rage and to calm him, Jerry had fed him. He hated himself for that, too, for allowing Jerry to coax him into feeding on the cowing stripper, one of the few in the little white hall who hadn't been part of the 'find Peter Vincent' mission.

Peter had collapsed to the floor when the girl was dry and sobbed before being comforted by Jerry's arms, unable to feel the disgust he had before. They curled up in bed and laid there, Jerry petting his pretty toy, Peter enjoying the attentions.. "You will stay with me, forever, pet," Jerry murmured against his forehead and Peter nodded absently, curling his fingers in Jerry's dark hair. He slept.


End file.
